Page 9 of The Venom We Bleed

“Awww is the preppy bitch gonna cry?”

I look up. Cry? She thinks this will make me cry? “Sorry,” I say, not feeling the least bit sorry at all as I clench my hand into a fist. “The preppy bitch you were expecting couldn’t make it. I’m just a bitch.”

4

JULIET

The second my fist flies for the bitch’s face, the teachers make their move. Guess it’s all right formeto get laid into, but the second I fight back, that’s going too far. I expected as much. Which is why, even when I spot them hurrying toward us and hear their yells, I don’t stop. I take the girl down to the ground and grip her by the throat.

“I tried to be nice,” I hiss into her face. “I tried to tell you to back the fuck off, but you didn’t listen.”

Slamming my fist into her nose, the sound of crunching cartilage flies to my ears. I haven’t gotten to bloody anybody up since I started taking lessons from Cory, so this is a whole new experience.

A heavy weight lands against my back and feminine fingers grip at my sides and arms, one even goes around my neck, as her friends try to pull me off. Nails dig into the back of my scalp as someone grabs ahold of my hair and yanks hard. I ignore it all, letting the pain fall over me and then slide right off. My hold on the bitch’s throat tightens until she’s clawing at my hands and kicking beneath me.

“But thank you,” I say to her face, “for giving me a reason to show everyone here that I’m not going to roll over and let you fuckers take your cheap shots.”

“Cunt.” She squeezes the word out as black mascara-streaked tears leak down her face.

I roll my eyes and bat away the hand still holding on to my hair, yanking and trying to get me to let up. The girl pulls out several strands. I don’t care. I’ll go bald before I let this one get away without delivering a clear warning.

I punch again for good measure and she cries out as blood pours from her nostrils. “This will be my only warning to you,” I snap. The sound of the teachers’ footsteps is getting closer. “Come after me again, and I’ll break your fucking legs. Stay away and I’ll be good. I’ll keep my fucking head down and I won’t give anyone any trouble.”

She spits at me and I dodge the flying saliva this time before shaking my head and compressing my grip around her throat. The sound of air wheezing from her mouth escapes. Her pulse hammers under my palm. Just a little more and I can completely cut off her airflow. Just a little longer, and she’ll pass out. If she’s unconscious, she won’t be able to spit at me anymore. If she’s dead, she won’t be able to do anything to me anymore.

The silence in my head is overwhelmed by the cacophony of shrieks and curses. I lean closer, lowering my voice as my lips graze her earlobe. “Spread the word,” I tell her. “You don’t fuck with me, and I won’t fuck with you.”

Hard fingers wrap around my arm and pull, but I’m done saying my piece. I let go of the bitch without a fight and let the man holding on to me rip me up from the ground. Turning my head, I take in the bulky figure at my side. Angry brown eyes glare down at me, the same ones that I’d seen in the passengerseat of Alexio Medicci’s SUV the night everything had gone to hell.

Nolan Pierce.

I take a step back, retracting my arm from his grip. He releases me, but before either of us can speak a word, my name is shouted across the cafeteria.

“Miss Donovan!” The same teacher from before—with the graying sideburns—is standing there red-faced and angry. “The principal’s office.Now!”

“Sure thing,” I say, wiping some of the blood still leaking from my nose away as I turn and snatch up my discarded book. I shove it into my bag before flinging it over my shoulder. Nolan Pierce’s gaze bores into my back as I go, but I don’t give a fuck.

I know who he is and I know damn well why he thought he could step in and stop a fight. Unlike Silverwood Prep, where cheerleaders and jocks are the leaders, Silverwood Public has a different class system. Here, violent assholes and drug dealers are the Kings, and Nolan Pierce is their leader.

As I stride towards the front office, several students hurry out of my way—their eyes wide and shocked.Good.As far as first days go, this wasn’t the worst way to start my senior year. Now, at least, they’ll all think twice before stepping on my fucking toes. I move from the cafeteria to the front hallway, feeling the same teacher’s angry breath on my back as I walk. He follows me to the front office and even takes direction when we reach the door, storming past me to slam it open and point inside as if I can’t find my own way. I roll my eyes and walk inside.

At the front desk, an older woman with short curly white hair sits, wearing a dress that was likely ugly even back in the seventies. Her bespeckled face lifts when the door flies open.

“Coach Danley? What’s this about—” She cuts off the second her gaze falls on me.

“Is Principal Long in?” he demands without answering.

The woman nods quickly, turning her rolling chair back as she looks over her shoulder. “Sh-she should still be in her office. She hasn’t left for her walkthrough yet?—”

“Good.” Coach Danley’s hand falls on my arm and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to rip myself from his grasp as he drags me towards the back hallway to the door labeled ‘Principal’s Office.’

He doesn’t bother to knock. Instead, he grips the knob and twists it open, thrusting me inside. Were this Silverwood Prep, he would be slapped with a lawsuit so fast that it would send his head spinning. But this isn’t Silverwood Prep. It’s Public and these people know I have no power.

The woman looks up from her desk with glasses perched at the end of her nose. Principal Long is one of those women who has a timeless face—she could be in her thirties or her fifties. The only tell are the slight lines around her mouth and the crow’s feet at each corner of her eyes. As Coach Danley storms into her office, she looks up from the pile of paperwork set in front of her and arches a brow at the show of disrespect.

“Coach Danley.” Her tone is even as she says the man’s name. “Is there a reason you’ve barged into my office at”—she checks the clock sitting on her desk—“seven fifty-five in the morning without so much as a knock?”

“This onehas already started a fight,” Coach Danley gestures to me, practically spitting the words ‘this one’ out as if it’s just as hideous as my name.

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